Beforemath
by Papergirl
Summary: If there's an aftermath, then, logically, there has to be a beforemath. Josh/Sam friendship


Title: Beforemath

Author: Amber (ambino1111@prodigy.net)

Category: Drama, Josh/Sam friendship

Summary: If there's an aftermath, then, logically, there has to be a beforemath.

Spoilers: Everything, especially ITSOTG, Noel, and The Leadership Breakfast

%~%~%~%~%

When he had asked him if he ever thought about his own mortality, contemplated his own death, Josh hadn't taken the question that seriously. It was years ago - before Rosslyn - and he and Sam were sitting in a bar. Josh had had his usual two-drink minimum - "More like two-drink maximum," Sam used to joke - and Sam had been nursing a lone bottle of Sam Adams the entire two hours of their stay. It was a Saturday night after a hectic week, more hectic than usual because of one Roberto Mendoza and his rather public remarks criticizing the ruling of a fellow judge. Both men were deservedly exhausted.

"Have you ever thought about your death?" Sam had asked suddenly.

Josh had turned to face him - the music in the bar was loud and the constant hum of chatter had been increasing exponentially with time. "What?" He shouted around a mouthful of peanuts.

Sam stared forlornly at the counter top under his beer bottle, tracing the grain of the wood with one finger. The bar had been packed by the time the two friends had finally finagled their escape from the office, and they'd had to settle for sitting at the bar. Neither man liked sitting at the bar; Sam preferred the privacy of a table, whereas Josh hated dismounting the high bar stools once he'd gotten a little tipsy. They had settled on their current seats out of sheer exhaustion and necessity and hadn't moved since.

It took a minute for the speech writer to repeat himself, so wrapped up in his thoughts was he.

"My death?" Josh asked, highly surprised. It wasn't the suddenness of the topic changed that caught him off guard so much as the topic Sam had chosen. The mood had been, for the most part, lighthearted. They had been discussing work (as usual), Sam had briefly lamented his loss of the elusive Mallory, and Josh had mentioned that his mother had sent him another new pair of shoes. Then conversation had petered out and the pair had been sitting and drinking in companionable silence for a good five minutes before Sam posed his philosophical query.

"Yeah," Sam's voice sounded funny, distant. He continued to trace the pattern on the counter top with his finger. "Have you ever wondered about dying? About _you_ dying in particular?"

Josh chased a handful of peanuts with a gulp of beer, contemplating the severity level of the question. Was he being serious, or was it just Drunk Sam waxing philosophical, despite the fact that he had not even finished one beer?

"No, not really. Occasionally, I suppose, but it's not something I like to think about," He answered truthfully, instantly regretting he'd avoided making a joke and moving on.

The older man looked sideways at his best friend, hoping he'd drop the serious stuff. Josh had been angry at, and terrified of, death ever since his childhood. Ever since Joanie... And when his father, the invincible and downright omnipotent man he cherished so dearly, had died suddenly, unexpectedly - he didn't care what anyone said, it was unexpected- Josh changed his will and grounded all thoughts about death, philosophical or otherwise.

"I think about it a lot," Sam said softly. So softly, in fact, that Josh didn't hear the words over the din of the room.

"Part of me isn't afraid of it," Sam continued, that time loud enough for Josh to hear. "I mean, we all have to go sometime. And no matter what the outcome - Heaven, Hell, or the great, black void of nothingness and nonexistence - it logically cannot and should not be feared... But I have dreams sometimes," He laughed bitterly, sending an odd chill down Josh's back. "Nightmares, really... And I can't help but be terrified. Utterly, paralyzingly terrified."

The words hung between them in the smoky air. The night was humid and the temperature in the bar had risen easily fifteen degrees, thanks to the body heat radiating off of the drunken, laughing, and shouting customers.

Josh was unsure of what he was supposed to say. As the White House Deputy Chief of Staff, Josh Lyman was never at a loss for words (save for one embarrassing press conference). And as just Josh Lyman, human being, he always had the confidence and vocabulary to clearly and resolutely state and support his opinions and ideas regarding anything under the sun. But sitting next to Sam Seaborn in the bar that night, with his mouth tasting like beer and peanut particles embedded in his teeth, Joshua Lyman did not know what to say.

Luckily for him, Sam's head had snapped up, as if attached, marrionette-style, to an unseen string, and the Deputy Communications Director once again changed the subject, this time to one closer to Josh's heart.

"So when are you going to ask out Donna?" 

Josh had gotten so flustered and caught-up in defending himself and his feelings that the two minute dissertation on death was pushed to the dark recesses of his mind where it laid, hidden, for many years.

Now, looking back on it, Josh knew that Sam had deliberately brought up Josh's lovely assistant to reroute their conversation. Josh's brain, when inebriated (though occasionally when sober), had the attention span of a two year old at a toy store. And when he started talking about a certain blonde, Josh Lyman could get so sidetracked that he'd forget his own name if the listener did not use it in attempt to interject.

Sam Seaborn knew all of that.

Which is why, when reflecting on Sam on night years later, after Rosslyn, after MS, after PTSD, the memory of their strange conversation popped, unabated, into the forefront of his mind.

Recollection and hindsight made him wonder - kept him up at night wondering - that maybe, in some way, maybe if Sam had known then. Had tried to bring it up, tried to reach out, only to have Josh refuse to address the issue. He wondered if he'd failed his friend just when he needed him.

Josh wondered, late at night because the world did not stop turning and a few hours of "sleep" a night was all he, in good conscience, allowed himself, wondered if maybe he could have done something... anything... so that Samuel Norman Seaborn wasn't lying in a hospital bed taking his last breaths.

%~%~%~%~%

"It was a tumor," Dr. Neuhall had announced when Josh had asked earlier that week. His voice was booming, theatrical, a Mark Twain baritone with an Arkansas accent. The words seemed to slide out in a martial melody - 'a rat a tat tat' replaced 'It was a tumor' in Josh's mind. But their meaning, their actual dictionary definitions and subtextual connotations, were lost on Josh.

The doctor, however, a balding man in his fifties, failed to notice the glassy look in the other man's eyes. Josh could barely grasp the concept of Sam being sick. He *really* couldn't understand Sam secretly being sick, secretly sneaking off to the occasional doctor's appointment by telling everyone he was at the dentist and everyone believing him because Sam was a self-proclaimed nut for dental hygiene and besides Sam never lied, had no reason, nor desire, to lie.

'How bitterly ironic,' Josh thought to himself as the doctor droned on about Sam's family's medical history. It was stuff Josh already knew, and if he didn't he could read everything when he demanded the medical files on his way out. 'How sad and ironic that the sensitive and sweet idealist from whom everyone wanted to hide the dirty truth was the best, most convincing liar of us all.'

'He was so good at lying that he even convinced himself.'

The quiet, humorless laugh that escaped Josh's lips was hidden, to his relief, by the beeping intercom on Dr. Neuhall's desk. His two o'clock was here.

Josh rose with the doctor and shook hands on automatic-pilot. The sweet baritone of his voice was massaging Josh's eardrums as his mind raced.

"How long?" He demanded suddenly. His tone was urgent and nonnegotiable, the same tone, he decided, he would later use at the front desk to obtain a copy of Sam's medical records.

"How long what?" Neuhall was rather taken aback at the younger man's abrupt and slightly rude interruption.

"How long did he have the..." His lips and tongue knew not how to form the word. He took an imperceptible breath. "When did he, when did he find out?"

The doctor glanced down at the chart in his hands and flipped through a few color-coded pages.

"The tumor was discovered when Mr. Seaborn went to his primary physician with complaints of excruciating headaches, loss of concentration, and occasional nosebleeds."

Josh rolled his eyes impatiently. He was fed up with the 'Doctor Two-Step.'

"When, *at what date,* did Sam find out about the tumor?"

"He was referred-"

"Please, just answer me."

The growing defeat edging its way into Josh's emotionally-distraught plea was clearly audible. Dr. Neuhall, neurosurgeon extraordinaire, blinked twice and lost the detached arrogance that often springs from medical superiority.

"November. The fourteenth. He found out five months ago."

Josh was silent a moment, his eyes thanking Neuhall for his honesty in a way words never could.

"What was the prognosis? When he found out?" Josh swallowed the uncomfortably large lump swelling in his throat before continuing the interrogation. "What did his doctor tell him?"

"I was the doctor that told him," Neuhall answered in a solemn voice. "And I told him the truth. The tumor was, *is*, located on the ridge between his frontal and temporal lobes. It could be cancerous or benign, but without surgery it would be difficult to determine for a fact which it was. Because of both the location of the tumor and the intricacies of the brain, surgically removing the mass could risk his speaking and hearing abilities, or possibly cause some other unforeseen, and most likely drastic, side effect."

"Sam refused the operation?" Josh stated quietly, phrasing it like a question but knowing the answer before the words left his mouth.

"Any surgery is risky, and with the brain doubly so, or even more. Because of the tumor's location, we couldn't guarantee a simple fix. I was, as with any patient, reluctant to let him continue without treatment, but he thought about it and it was his choice."

Josh had been unconsciously grasping the shiny brass doorknob in his hand so hard that his knuckles had turned white. Dr. Neuhall, noticing the discoloration, gestured for Josh to open the door.

His two o'clock was here.

Josh opened the door, released the knob, and left. He was in the elevator when he remembered Sam's files, but decided he'd send Donna for them later instead of going back up and facing again the knowing brown eyes of Dr. Neuhall and the concerned smirk of his secretary.

%~%~%~%~%

"Josh, you need to go see him."

Donna's gentle-but-firm voice, which normally soothed his nerves and brought him peace of mind, sounded like a harsher version of nails-on-a-chalkboard. Her constant nagging and meddling usually, if not appealed to his sense of reason, helped instigate a bout of refreshing banter to lift his mood. He couldn't even count the times the mere sound of her voice, much less the words, helped him overcome the many rough spots in his life. He was forever grateful and indebted to her.

But now he wanted her to leave. Go. Vanish. Leave him alone. Shut her pretty mouth and stop bugging him. He'd had enough of Donnatella Moss and her theories and suggestions. His thinning patience had melted away.

"Donna!" His voice, merely "sleepy" or "tired" to a casual observer, contained a sharp, almost menacing edge to it, a quality Donna picked up on and promptly ignored.

"Joshua, I am not leaving you alone. I am not going to sit idly by while you live in denial of what's going on in the real world. Sam is sick. He is going to die-"

"You don't know that," He snapped, instantly hating the petulance in his voice.

Donna's eyes darkened slightly and her luscious red lips sank into a slight frown. "Sam is going to die -" She repeated in a gentler voice.

"We're all going to die sometime," Josh interrupted quickly. Morosely... Satisfactorily.

Donna's glare fixed on his cloudy eyes as she continued in her insistent manner without missing a beat. "He is dying right now, he is lying on his deathbed, and his best friend in the world refuses to visit him. How do you think that makes him feel?"

"Drop it," Josh growled angrily, staring hard into her eyes, daring her to press his buttons and continue.

She dared.

"Sam needs you, Josh!" She shouted, flailing her arms around partly in anger and partly in wild emphasis. "He's your best friend, and you're letting him down. If this is some sort of juvenile revenge for when you were in the hospital, then Josh, you're not being-"

"Drop it, Donna!" Josh barked sharply, stopping her before she said something she could never take back. 

Donna opened her mouth to continue, but Josh got to his feet, tossed a few files and folders in his backpack, and briskly walked out of his office.

"Where are you going?" She was split between anger and concern.

"Tell Leo I'm leaving early," He tossed over his shoulder before pushing through the heavy double doors and leaving the west wing.

%~%~%~%~%

"Hey, Josh," Sam's voice, registering barely above a whisper, sounded small and frightened as it was swallowed by the large expanse of the hospital room.

"Hey, Sam," Josh rasped, a smile tugging at his lips like he was engaged in a facial tug-of-war.

"How're you feeling?" He asked tentatively, shifting his weight from foot to foot in the doorway. Hospitals always made him uncomfortable, and now, to see his best friend in the world confined to one brought a stinging sense of reality and mortality to his otherwise simple life.

"I can't complain."

Except he could. There were tubes everywhere - he had been eating and peeing in tubes since the surgery. He was confined to a bed, not so much as per doctor's orders or hospital policy as for lack of the ability to move. Blood was dripped in and pumped out, heart was monitored closely, dressings and bedding were changed more frequently than the good law of sterility could possibly require. He was weak, sore, his chest burned, his ribs ached, his mind raced with a thousand and twenty seven more thoughts per minute than usual.

And the pain medication was wearing off.

From his vantage point on the forty-five degree angled upright part of the bed containing his torso and upper body, Josh saw Sam smile weakly. At least, he thought he saw him smile. It might have been a shadow.

"I'm, uh, I'm sorry I didn't come by earlier," Sam started, his eyes on the foot of the bed and his tone apologetic. "CJ had me doing the rounds on the morning shows and, you know, the overflow of work after the, uh, after the aftermath - we've all been swamped."

Josh was hurt. Not angry, but hurt. He knew as well as Sam did that every word just spoken was only partly true. Everyone else had been to see him several times since the shooting, even people he hardly knew. And everyday he'd ask Donna where Sam was, when Sam was going to visit him, and everyday he didn't show up.

Josh's intelligence felt belittled. He'd known Sam long enough, Sam'd known him long enough to know Josh could almost always tell when he was lying.

He was doing it then. What was worse was Sam knew Josh knew, but nevertheless continued to do it.

Josh didn't really care about the lying. He only wanted to know why his best friend was reluctant to tell the truth, why he tried to get by with stretching the facts so badly.

For now, he decided to postpone the inquisition.

"Why don't you come in, Sam?" He asked, trying to make him feel both welcome and ashamed. As the younger man took a few uncertain steps into the room, Josh thought, with no satisfaction, he'd succeeded in his goal.

Josh's eyes followed Sam as he uncomfortably took a seat next to the bed. Sam leaned forward, but the chair was positioned so that he was sitting by the head of the bed, facing Josh's feet. He tented his fingers and let out a quiet sigh, then tilted his head to face the man he'd been avoiding all week.

"I'm sorry, Josh," He said after a moment's hesitation.

Josh opened his mouth but thought twice and immediately clamped it shut again. Something was telling him that Sam needed to talk, as much as Josh needed to listen.

"I've been in a daze, in a ... 'funk' all week,: He began slowly, running a hand through his slightly disheveled hair, a look of supreme sadness pouring from his sapphire eyes. "Ever since the sh-- shoo...the, uh, the shooting-" Josh could tell that it was the first time Sam had actually spoken the word, and the knowledge gave him hope, as if somehow Sam had just admitted he had a problem and was on the road to recovery.

"Ever since the shooting," Sam repeated with more strength, after he had trailed off in his previous attempt at a sentence. "The world has changed right before my eyes. Everything is different now."

Josh remained silent.

"I don't know why I was walking with CJ instead of you. I usually, I almost always, walk with you. But for some reason... that night, I ... I didn't wait for you. I've been trying to figure out why, but I can't. And I refuse to submit this as kismet and leave it at that, but it just might - I didn't even know you were hurt!"

The words suddenly exploded from his mouth, making Josh jump slightly in surprise. "You're my best friend, I usually-but-didn't-that-night walk with you, and I - it's like I didn't even acknowledge your absence. It's like I foolishly assumed you were right there beside me, but you weren't. Instead you were dying, and I should have been there with you, to help you, to comfort you, to save you... but I wasn't there. I wasn't even the person that looked for you, that found you - Toby was the one who was selfless and kind enough to wonder about your whereabouts that night. I - I am a horrible person and a rotten friend, and while someday way in the future you might forgive me, I know I'll never forgive myself."

For only the second or third time since they'd met, Joshua Lyman had not a clue as to what to say to Sam Seaborn.

He didn't have to worry because Sam stood and quietly excused himself. When he returned not five minutes later, his eyes had a pinkish hue to them. A newspaper was tucked under his right arm and a Styrofoam cup was steaming in his left hand. The first change Josh had noticed wasn't any of those things; it was much more subtle. Sam's demeanor was different, his eyes, although tinted from a brief, hidden bout of crying, were almost brighter, more lively. Even the dark bags that had set up camp under his eyes - unbeknownst to Josh, they had been growing darker all week - seemed lighter and less severe. All in all, Josh decided after a quick, scrutinizing glance, it appeared as if a weight had been magically lifted from his friend's beaten spirit. Not lifted all the way, but enough to lessen the load and let Sam's face muscles defy gravity and slip into a comfortable smile. A smile Josh had missed desperately.

Sam cleared his throat. "I'll let you have a sip of my coffee if I can eat your Jell-O," He suggested. The hopeful glimmer in his voice had nothing to do with gelatin.

Josh found the strength to smile, weak though it may have been, and both men felt instantly better.

"Sam, that's not nearly an equal trade," Josh complained, doing his best to keep the delicate light atmosphere between them.

"Ah yes, perhaps," Sam admitted, carefully handing over the cup of hot brown water. "But I can always buy Jell-O from the cafeteria, and I bet they won't let you go down there and drink coffee."

Josh shook his head and took a small sip of the forbidden beverage. A sigh of delight escaped his lips as the warmth spread to his stomach.

Sam's grin was so full of relief and happiness that it couldn't have even physically gotten brighter when Josh relinquished his cup of pineapple Jell-O.

Sam took the Jell-O and his cup of coffee back and sank into the chair next to the bed. He put the cups on the table and snapped open the newspaper he'd brought with him.

"Donna warned me that I'm not supposed to discuss anything remotely news-related with you, since you're supposed to be resting and all, but I know you must be going stir-crazy."

Josh nodded emphatically, then stifled a yawn. He was still weak enough that a few minutes of conversation was enough to wear him out.

"So I'm going to read some of the news to you, but only the good stuff. And since I know there's at least one good piece of news, I'm flipping right back to the sports section for you."

Josh smiled as Sam began to read about how the Yankees lost their last game.

Sam's gentle voice flowed soothingly through the room. Gradually, Josh's heavy eyelids drooped closed.

He knew, as well as Sam did, that things were still not quite right between them. Sam had to get over his immense guilt, and Josh needed to fight his own personal demons. But they had taken the first step, the crucial first step, and were well on their way to recovery.

When Josh fell asleep, Sam put the Jell-O cup back on his tray and settled in the chair, silently watching his injured best friend halfway hidden in the maze of tubing until a nurse came to check on Josh's vitals and informed Sam that visiting hours were over.

%~%~%~%~%

He hadn't know that Sam wanted to quit, was going to quit, was about to quit until weeks afterwards, until weeks after talks with Leo, the President, and Toby (of all people) had made Sam rethink his decision and choose to stay. Josh had had no idea, and had only found out by inadvertently overhearing Leo discussing it with Toby while waiting in the Chief of Staff's office.

He hadn't really comprehended it at first. He had heard the words, but, as he later would react when he discovered Sam was sick, their meanings were lost on his Fulbright scholar mind.

He didn't even bother to question what they had been talking about. After all, why investigate something that was ludicrous, something that couldn't possibly be true? A Deputy Chief of Staff had a lot more important things to do.

But, as he sat at his desk after meeting with Leo to review the latest troubling data about poverty, the implications of what he'd heard started nagging his brain, begging him to think.

And think he did.

He thought back to the last time he and Sam had done something together outside of work. Nothing came to mind at first. He really had to dig back, sift through months of memories, before he could recall. It had been a long, long time, back before the President's hidden disease had erupted into an international scandal.

Had it really been over a year?

Incredible as it seemed, it was true. Josh had noticed he and Sam were growing apart lately, but he hadn't realized how long it had been going on or the extent to which it had grown.

He wasn't even sure what exactly had been going on between them. 'Nothing,' he decided, and that was the problem. He still considered Sam Seaborn his best friend, but he felt guilty. He knew next to nothing about what was going on in Sam's life, what *had been* going on in Sam's life. Had he reconciled with his father? Did he work up the courage to ask out Ainsley? Had he spoken to Lisa since the State of the Union? Was he still upset about the tape?

Josh didn't know.

It almost scared him.

Leo and Toby's words came rushing back with crystal clarity.

'Did he decide?'

'Who? Sam?'

'Yeah. Is he really leaving?'

'No, he's staying. I think we managed to convince him of his importance.'

'He *is* important.'

'I know that, but I think... I think he forgot.'

What had made Sam want to quit? What could have possibly happened to even plant the idea of leaving into Sam's mind? Leo had suggested Sam forgot about what an important role he played in not only the government, but also in the lives of the senior staffers. How could he forget?

Sam Seaborn loved his job. 'It had to have been something drastic to make him even consider quitting it,' Josh concluded. His stomach knotted itself and his throat felt a little tight. Something was wrong. Something had gone terribly wrong in his best friend's life during the past year, and Josh hadn't even noticed.

When had he become such a horrible friend?

His friendship with Sam had been on the back burner for so long that the water in their pot had evaporated. He could blame Sam, claim it was all his fault for never trying to talk, for never suggesting they go out somewhere after work, but that simply wasn't true.

Sam *had* tried. Several occasions sprang to mind and shoved Josh lower into his pit of guilt. Sam was the one who would swing by his office to see what he was up to, if he was free for lunch, what he thought about Congress's ideas for such-and-such legislation. Sam was the one who'd bring him a cup of coffee in the morning (because Donna never did) on the way to senior staff meetings, Sam was the one who'd pop into his office to swipe a piece of fruit before Josh inevitably let them rot, Sam was the one who attempted to keep their friendship alive.

Josh, on the other hand, was too focused on himself to even acknowledge the effort, much less return it. Back when he was dating Amy Gardner (a shudder involuntarily ran through him at the memory), Josh's life had changed. It was a slight change, but in order to be the man Amy wanted, it was a necessary change. Amy Gardner was one of those women who always had to be the center of attention, the sole focus of all of Josh's thoughts. For that to happen, even poor Donna had to take a backseat. And Sam... well, for whatever reason, Amy didn't like Sam that much. Consequently Josh had made a foolish, albeit subconscious, decision to spend more time with his high-maintenance girlfriend and less with his easygoing best friend.

So when Sam would ask him out to lunch, he'd already have a date with Amy lined up. All Josh and Amy discussed was politics, so when Sam asked him his opinion on a piece of legislation, Josh would be tired of discussing it and curtly inform Sam how he felt.

Gradually, Sam seemed to take the hint. Like a neglected child or a wounded puppy, he stopped talking to Josh, stopped hanging around his office. Josh bought a Starbucks every morning because Sam no longer met him before senior staff with a cup and a smile. Or maybe Sam stopped bothering because Josh bought Starbucks - he wasn't sure which had happened first.

Either way, the result was the same: Josh and Sam were no longer best friends.

The sudden realization hit Josh and forced him to bolt upright in his chair.

What had he done?

%~%~%~%~%

At first, he hadn't even heard the knock on the door.

It was late Sunday night, and he had drifted off to sleep while watching a marathon of the 1940s Superman TV series starring George Reeves on one of the cable channels he paid for and was never home to watch.

The succession of knocks eventually grew loud enough to jar him from his dreamless state and force him to leave the warmth and comfort of his blanketed spot on the couch.

A quick peep through the hole designed for that explicit purpose unleashed myriad emotions that began swirling through his body.

He unlocked the door and opened it slowly. "Hi, Sam."

"Hey, Josh," Sam Seaborn stood on the doorstep in front of him, holding a bulging paper bag in his right hand. He was wrapped so completely in his black overcoat, scarf, hat, and gloves that only the stretch of reddened skin surrounding his piercing blue eyes was visible.

Josh wanted to laugh, but he was tired. 

The pair stood for a moment, staring awkwardly at each other. Sam rocked slightly on his feet and raised a hand to lower his scarf. "Are you busy?"

Josh , as if waking from a dream, shook his head. "No... no. Why don't you, uh, come inside?"

He opened the door wider and moved aside as Sam stepped through the doorway, stomping the remnants of snow off of his boots. He turned to Josh and held the large bag out in front of him like a child offering a Twinkie to a wild animal during a camping trip. 

"I thought maybe, if you were hungry, maybe you'd want to have some Chinese with me. I haven't had dinner yet, so I picked it up on the way over," Sam unraveled himself from his winter gear as he hastily explained his presence.

Josh took the bag into the living room and gently set it on the coffee table, then retreated to the kitchen for plates, silverware, and cans of soda. When he returned, Sam was loosening his tie by the couch.

"Did you come right from work?" Josh asked without looking at his friend. He placed the items in his arms on the table and sank into one end of the couch. Sam, after hesitating, followed suit.

"Yeah. I, uh, I was working on a, a thing."

Josh opened the containers, and he and Sam heaped various steaming foodstuffs on their plates. They ate silently for a while, but eventually the quiet started to bug Josh. He put down his practically untouched food and turned to look at the man sitting next to him.

"Sam, what did you want?"

Sam, slightly startled, swallowed the rice in his mouth and mulled over his answer.

In the meantime, Josh stood and walked over to the television. He leaned down, shut off the set, and stared at Sam, arms crossed. "I'm fine, Sam. Really, I'm fine."

Josh could see the argument taking place behind Sam's indigo eyes. He knew that look, knew where Sam was headed.

It was a place Josh never wanted to go, and especially not that night. He was simply too tired.

"Maybe you are now, Josh, but I seriously doubt it. That's not what I wanted to talk about, though. I wanted to -"

"What?" Josh was suddenly angry. And scared, partly because he didn't know why he was angry, but mostly because it was the day after Christmas and everything was still so fresh and so sore. "What did you want to talk about, Sam? How my fragile mental state will ruin my career in politics? How my current job is threatened because I'm hearing things that aren't there? How I may have to talk to a shrink for the rest of my life to gain back what little semblance of sanity I once had?"

Sam's pupils dilated defensively. "Josh," His voice was soft, mellow...trembling. It somehow didn't make Josh feel any better. "I just wanted to know..."

Sam's eyes drifted down to his well-manicured hands. Josh remained silent, shifting his weight and waiting impatiently for the speech writer to choose his words.

"I - I wanted to apologize. For Rosslyn, and, and for the last few weeks. I should have figured it out, Josh. I should have see the signs, should have seen... something. But instead I let you down. Again. So I just wanted to say I'm sorry, even though I know it means nothing, and, and I wanted to make sure that you're not too angry with me."

Josh needed to sit down. He cocked his head to the side to study his friend. Sam Seaborn was being serious. 

"What on earth are you talking about, Sam? Why would I, why would I possibly blame you for _any_thing?"

Sam gently placed his plate on the table and avoided Josh's eyes. "You don't have to pretend you're not upset with me, Josh. I can tell. And besides that, I know. _I'm_ upset with me, too. Maybe even more than you are. And when I heard what Donna thought you did, thought you were... capable... of, I just felt... I'm a lousy friend, aren't I?"

Josh began to pace the room. Too many thoughts were running through his head to allow him to continue being stationary. He took a breath to try to steady himself and his thoughts. 

"Samuel Norman Seaborn, I want you to sit quietly and listen very, very carefully to everything I am about to say. Understand?"

Sam nodded, a little surprised by the firmness of the command.

"I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It is a disease, a curable disease from which I will recover in due time. But it is not something that can be - you couldn't have prevented it. The shooting at Rosslyn happened. For whatever reason, whatever purpose, I was shot and I survived. And coming within inches of my life had to have repercussions somewhere down the line. I had been spiraling out of control for a while, but if I didn't even admit it to myself, didn't even register what was going on, how in the hell could I hold you responsible for not foreseeing it? Sam, I was in trouble, yes. And I was alone in my trouble, yes, but not because I didn't have friends I love and can trust. I didn't tell anyone what was going on because I didn't want to admit that I was... because I didn't _want_ to tell anyone. What happened to me, now and at Rosslyn, was not your fault!"

"But, Josh," Sam protested immediately after he stopped speaking. "I guess I know logically it's not my fault, but I still feel guilty."

Josh sighed and sat down again on the couch. "Sam, only you could experience survivor's guilt when no one died."

Sam didn't crack a smile like Josh had hoped. "I let you down at Rosslyn. No matter what, I'll never fully get over that. But to let you down again, Josh! You're my best friend! Best friends are supposed to be there for each other, be aware of each other. I should have known you were hurting."

"Sam-"

"I could have helped you."

"Sam-"

"I let you down again."

Josh wasn't sure, but he could have sworn he saw a tear travel down Sam's cheek, but it was probably a shadow from a passing car.

"Sam-"

But Sam waved his sentence off and turned his head away. Josh was hurt and confused until he heard a sniffle.

Forgetting about the "Macho Masculinity" facade he was supposed to be presenting at all times, Josh scooted over on the couch and nudged at Sam's shoulder until he turned his tear-streaked face towards Josh. Wordlessly, Josh wrapped his arms around his little-brother-with-a-different-last-name as first Sam, then both of them, wept.

%~%~%~%~%

The room was not what he expected a dying man's room to look like.

Its smallishness reminded him of a dorm room. The two twin beds were on opposite walls from each other in order to, he assumed, maximize walking space. Like every dorm room he'd ever seen, the walls were painted stark white, and the far wall consisted almost entirely of a large window currently hidden behind glaringly white horizontal blinds. Detracting from the dormitory comparison was both the lack of posters and other wall decorations and the inescapable fact that the two people were currently residing in a small room of a hospital and both were near-death.

Other than that, they were in college again.

In the corner of the room, near the bathroom, the nineteen-inch television hanging in the nook between ceiling and wall was on, the volume low.

Josh examined his friend from the strobe light-like illumination flickering from the TV set. Even in the gentle blue glow he could easily see the sickness in Sam's face.

It was real.

Josh's eyes jerked away from the prone figure in the bed. Sam was asleep. He looked peaceful - almost too peaceful. 'I shouldn't interrupt him,' Josh thought. 'I'll just come back later.'

His mind set, Josh turned around to leave. A cough from the bed across the room caught his attention.

"He's been asleep for about an hour now, Josh," A wispy voice informed him. Josh stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around.

"How do you know my name?" He demanded quietly. It was unnerving.

"Well, I wasn't a hundred percent sure until just then," The voice was enigmatic, at once young and vibrant and old and weak. "Sam talks about you a lot."

Josh's brief flash of anger subsided, and he took a few steps towards the bed. The light beams streaming in through the blinds made it hard to distinguish the object, but soon he was able to make out the figure hiding beneath the tightly-drawn hospital sheets.

To his surprise, the figure was that of a young woman.

The two stared at each other for a moment before the woman raised her IVed hand for Josh to shake. "I'm Arella."

"Arella? That's an unusual name," Josh commented quietly. She smiled.

"I know. My mother picked it out. It means "angel messenger" in Hebrew."

Josh sat down in the chair next to her bed and glanced over at Sam's still-sleeping form. "Your mother has good taste."

"I guess. I don't know very much about her - she died of breast cancer when I was three."

Josh turned to face her. "I'm so sorry."

"Oh, it's not your fault," She sat up a little and readjusted her pillow. "I don't even remember her anyway. As harsh as it may seem, I sometimes think it's better that way, you know? Like I don't know what I'm missing?"

Josh didn't know how to respond to that. He decided to change the subject. "So, as long as we're talking about depressing things, do you mind if I ask what you're in here for?"

She shook her head and smiled ruefully. "I have diabetes. I've had it practically my whole life and I've been fine. But I just recently had a child, and I guess my poor ol' pancreas can't handle me anymore. I'm just waiting for a transplant."

As Deputy Chief of Staff, Josh knew the latest statistics on organ transplants. He felt it his responsibility to move onto a less-depressing topic. "A child? Your first?"

He relished in her face lighting up. "Yes. A boy - Matthew. Looks just like his daddy."

They sat in a comfortable silence, listening to the various beeps and whirs of the machinery around them.

"You can ask the question, you know," She prodded. Josh looked over at her in confusion.

"What? What question?"

"The one you've been wanting to ask since you walked in here."

He took a deep breath and his eyes wandered over to Sam again. "Is he - is he okay?"

She shook her head. "You already know the answer to that one. Ask what you really want to ask."

Josh met her eyes. "Is he mad at me?"

"You know he isn't and never was."

Josh shifted his gaze back to his bedridden best friend. "I don't want to ask. I don't want to find out," He admitted softly.

The corner of her mouth turned up in a humorless half-smile. He was more in tune with himself than she'd given him credit for. 

She waited quietly, absently playing with the edge of her blanket. She knew it was coming, however slowly.

"Arella, is he... is Sam ready to... does he feel like... is he ready to die?"

The sorrow and guilt plaguing the man next to her made Arella's heart twinge. She opened her mouth to answer him, to try to assuage his deepest fears, but a nurse walked in to extract another blood sample from her and Josh politely excused himself, assuring her he'd be back later in the week.

She never saw him again.

%~%~%~%~%

"Josh, I think you've had enough."

Josh Lyman looked over at the owner of the voice and then down at his freshly opened first beer of the night. He threw the bottle cap in his hand at his friend. "Very funny, Sam. Downright hilarious."

Sam grinned happily and tilted his head back to guzzle the remainder of his first beer. "I'll be headlining at Caeser's all next week."

Josh rolled his eyes.

Sam got to his feet with a little grunt and walked to the kitchen to put his bottle in Josh's recycling "mound." He leaned his head back into the living room. "Hey, Josh, when did Toby say he was getting here?"

"He called when you were flirting with the pizza delivery girl," Josh smirked. "He said he'd be here in about ten minutes. And he's bringing CJ."

Sam reappeared in the living room with another beer. "What? Why is CJ coming? This was supposed to be a guy night!"

Josh yanked free another overly-cheesy piece of pepperoni pizza and took a large bite before answering. "What's your point?" He asked finally, eyes twinkling.

Sam's own eyes grew wide and the ends of his mouth turned up in a quirky smile. "CJ would kick your ass if she heard you call her a guy."

Josh tried his best to look innocent, a feat he had perfected long ago as a troublemaking child. "Sam, how dare you insinuate something like that. At no time did those words come out of my mouth."

It was Sam's turn to roll his eyes. "Well, if CJ's coming, why don't you go ahead and invite Donna, too?"

Josh shook his head violently and quickly swallowed his mouthful of pizza. "Nooooo. Donna is great and all, but I want to be able to enjoy this game. Do you want Donna constantly interrupting to share inane trivia and getting into elaborate discussions involving the origin of football?"

"Nah. That's my job," Sam grinned around his beer bottle. "But, you do realize that we're going to have to put up with CJ commenting on the sexiness of all the players."

Josh shrugged his shoulders as if to say it was a small price to pay. "I wasn't about to argue with Toby. Besides, CJ can occasionally get all caught up in the game and forget about her estrogen."

Sam propped his feet up on the edge of the coffee table and laced his fingers behind his head. He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath.

"You okay, Sam?" Josh asked, concerned. Something had seemed a little off in Sam's demeanor lately.

One azure eye opened a crack and peered at the man in the oversized Redskins sweatshirt. "Me? Yeah, I'm, I'm, uh, I'm fine."

"Yeah, you really sound like it there, buddy."

Both eyes slid open and turned to watch him. "It's just been a busy week is all. And I'm glad to be here watching the Reds with my friends."

The White House Deputy Chief of Staff's eyebrows furrowed. "Sam, you do know that you and I are the only people in the apartment and the game doesn't start for another half hour, right?"

"Yes, Josh. But I still mean it."

Josh didn't like the mushy turn their conversation was taking. "Sam-"

"No, Josh. Just because we're males doesn't mean we can't tell our friends we love and appreciate them."

"I think it does."

"Josh-"

A sigh. "All right, Sam. I love and appreciate you, too."

Too his surprise, Sam didn't smile. In fact, he looked almost sad. "Thanks."

He sounded near-tears. Josh was perplexed. "What's wrong?"

Sam's feet sank to the floor as he straightened himself in his seat. "Huh? Oh, nothing. I'm just glad we're still friends."

He felt even more surprised. "Of course we're still friends. We'll always be friends. Why would you even think otherwise?"

"No reason, really, I guess. I just know that politics is a vicious mistress. I just figured that since she breaks up marriages and destroys close relationships that even our friendship, might, one day... Nevermind. It was silly to worry about it."

"Yes," Josh said slowly. "Are you sure that's all that's bothering you? If you're still worried about the President's inauguration speech, don't be. You and Toby still have all of December and most of January to figure it out."

Sam smiled weakly and drank more of his beer. "Yeah. You're right."

His voice was thick and shaky. Before Josh could interrogate him further, there was a buzz. CJ and Toby had arrived. The rest of the evening was filled with pizza, beer, football, and laughter. Sam had been funny and intelligent and normal, almost _too_ normal. 

Upon later reflection, Josh concluded that the reason Sam seemed a little off was because he was trying too hard to make it appear that his life was normal, that he was carefree and happy and healthy. He had done a good job, too.

It had been late November. Sam had known then. He had known and had maybe wanted to tell Josh about it, but he, for whatever reason, couldn't.

Sam had known, and Josh should have.

%~%~%~%~%

"That is the biggest orange I've ever seen."

Sam looked up from his seat in the mess and nodded. "Yes. And it's quite possibly the best orange ever."

Josh placed his tray across from Sam and dropped into the chair opposite his estranged friend. "Where'd you get it?" He inquired, eager to keep up the first non-work-related conversation he'd had with Sam in months.

Sam was just as eager. "Oh, there's this little farmers' market in Fredericksburg once a week. I don't usually manage to get down there, but I made the trip yesterday."

Josh opened his carton of chocolate milk. "You drove all the way to Fredericksburg for some oranges?"

"Well, they're really good oranges. The guy's brother brings them in once a month fresh from his orchard in Florida. And I bought other things besides oranges."

"Like what?"

"Apples. Lettuce. Tomatoes. You know, the basics of produce."

The conversation exhausted, they settled into an awkward silence while they ate.

Josh felt horrible. When he'd had his epiphany the day before, he'd made a vow to immediately fix his and Sam's friendship.

He hadn't thought it would be so difficult.

Later that day, after sitting through the rest of a mostly-silent lunch with Sam, Josh found himself sitting at his desk and whining to Donna about the typos in the important report she had handed him.

"Fine, Josh. I'll go fix them right now," The blonde grabbed back the folder and spun on her heels. "I doubt anyone would notice his name was missing an 'e' anyway," She muttered under her breath.

Josh shook his head and became engrossed in a file on opposition for raising the minimum wage. 

Seemingly seconds after Donna had left, she came running back in. "Josh!"

The worry and haste in her voice snapped him immediately back into the real world. He was instantly on his feet. "What's wrong, Donna?"

Her face was pale and her hands were shaking. "It's Sam. He - they just wheeled him out on a stretcher. Toby, Toby found him on the floor next to his desk."

Josh darted out of his office and flew down the hall. He saw CJ in the distance, but the rest of his surroundings were blurry.

"CJ!" He shouted, coming to an abrupt halt by her side. "Where is he? What happened?"

CJ looked shaken, and that sent a shiver down Josh's spine. "He's on his way to GW. Toby went with him."

"What happened? Is he okay?" Josh felt like he could vomit.

"I don't know, Josh. I just got here. Toby found him collapsed on the floor next to his desk. I don't know how long he was there, why he collapsed, what's wrong with him-"

"CJ. CJ. CJ," Josh finally got her attention. "It's okay, CJ. Sam will be fine."

CJ's eyes searched Josh's for the truth behind his words. Did he honestly think Sam was okay?

No.

But he wanted her to.

Josh glanced at his watch. "Don't you have a briefing, Claudia Jean?"

A small smile creeped onto her face. "Joshua, your watch sucks. I just got out of the Press Room."

Josh didn't have the time to look sheepish. "DONNA!" He shouted, jogging back towards his office. "Tell Leo I'm going to the hospital!"

Donna nodded and headed towards the Chief of Staff's office with the news.

%~%~%~%~%

The strawberry Jell-O left much to be desired.

Not that it mattered, really, because Josh Lyman had not touched the small bowl on the tray in front of him. The dry turkey sandwich was untouched as well, and the bottle of iced tea still had the protective plastic wrap around the top.

It wasn't that he wasn't hungry. Physically, he had to be, for he hadn't managed to keep anything down besides coffee since Sam had been admitted. He just didn't feel like eating much.

"You mind if I sit here?"

Josh looked up into Leo's compassionate eyes and blinked.

"Wh-no. I don't mind, sir. Sit."

Leo pulled out the chair opposite Josh and sat. He nodded towards the meal. "You know, you have to do more than just buy the food for its nutrients to benefit your body."

Josh, who had started daydreaming again, didn't answer. Instead, he continued staring at some point to the left of Leo's shoulder.

Joshua Lyman was the son Leo McGarry had never had. Since he was born, Leo had watched Josh's triumphs and mistakes, joys and tragedies, with a type of paternal admiration. When Noah Lyman died, Leo stepped into the role of surrogate father for the grieving son, and he had not since given up his title for a second.

It didn't take someone who was close to Josh to see the deputy was in pain. And while most of the time Leo could do little to help him feel better, this time he could do a lot. Sadly, Leo had had plenty of experience watching a best friend grow sicker and sicker.

"Life is pretty funny, isn't it?"

That caught the younger man's attention. "Pardon?"

"I don't mean like punchline-of-a-joke funny. I mean, it's pretty interesting with all the twists and turns and how life goes in cycles."

Leo could tell he'd have to give up on the ambiguity and the similes because he only had a fraction of Josh's attention.

"You and I are a lot alike, Josh. Or should I say you and Sam and Jed Bartlet and I."

Something flashed in Josh's eyes. Leo did not miss it.

"Leo, I don't want to talk about Sam right now."

"How long have you known him?"

The Chief of Staff's genuinely curious question caught Josh off-guard. He took a moment to collect himself and try to focus fully on the current conversation.

"It seems like my whole life," He answered softly. "I don't know - eight, ten years."

"I've known Jed Bartlet for over forty. Of course, we weren't friends at first. But there was something about him, about us - we could go months without speaking and when we'd see each other again it was as if no time had actually passed."

Josh studied his mentor, listening intently. Leo McGarry was a private man, and it was a rare occasion when one of the staff got a glimpse of what was under the political facade.

"Were you and Sam friends from the moment you met?"

Josh reflected a second, absently playing with the still-wrapped straw. "Not at first, no. We were acquaintances, I guess. Gradually we spent more time together and started respecting each other. And before either of us knew it, we'd become best friends."

Leo nodded, glancing at the table before looking back into the younger man's eyes. "Josh, Sam was admitted three days ago, but I heard you haven't gone to visit him yet."

Josh was instantly on the defensive. "Well, you know I've had things to do at the White House, and then I wanted to pick up some paperwork from Sam's doctor, and I haven't really found the time yet-"

"You think I can't tell you're lying? I've known you all your life and you think I can't tell when you're bullshitting me?" Leo wasn't angry, but he wasn't exactly pleased with Josh either.

Josh felt like he'd been slapped. "Leo-"

"Josh, did I ever tell you about the conversation I had with Sam after Rosslyn?"

Josh shook his head dumbly.

"I didn't think so. You were out of surgery and sleeping from all the drugs, and I came to visit. They weren't letting anyone into your room, so I came down here and found Sam sitting alone in the corner booth over there."

Josh turned to examine the booth before turning back to him. "Leo, this sounds pretty personal. I don't, I don't think I should be hearing it."

"Au Contraire, son, I think it's exactly what you need to hear," Leo paused, making sure he had Josh's complete attention. "Sam looked lousy. He had a bowl of soup that he hadn't touched and a full cup of coffee and was just staring at this stain on the floor. Just staring. He looked completely dejected. He looked like... like he needed a hug, you know? But I didn't give him one. I always felt badly about that - I shouldn't have been a tight-ass and just given the man a hug. But, anyway, I sat down, and we started talking a little. He basically felt horrible about not walking out of the Newseum with you, and even worse about not even being the one to notice you were missing. Between you and me, I think part of him almost resented Toby for finding you."

Josh's eyebrows raised, mostly because of the startling parallel between the two situations.

"When you first came in, Sam didn't want to leave your side. But once you were whisked off to surgery, his outlook changed. Sam didn't want to visit you. He was afraid to, I think, because he'd see you weak and hurt and would be unable to help you. But I also think he was living in denial. He hoped that by avoiding you, he could pretend it never happened. Of course, Sam knew better than that, which is why he contrived so many excuses to avoid going into your room. In the end, though, I think it was simply the guilt. I could tell, everyone could tell, he felt incredibly guilty. And we tried to tell him he was being irrational, but you can't control feelings like that. Sam had to work through his own personal issues before he could visit you and take on yours, and I think the situation is exactly the same now. I know Donna's been pestering you to see Sam, but you don't have to until you're ready. We were all shocked by Sam's collapse, and I don't need to know the particulars of why he chose to keep you in the dark, but I'm sure he had his reasons. I guess the moral of the story is friendship is stronger than any disease. You guys will work through this, and Sam will work through this. His surgery tomorrow will be fine, and the doctors are very hopeful. But even if you're not sure yet, I think you should go visit him tonight, before the surgery. He could use your support, Josh, and you could use his."

When Josh looked up, Leo was saddened to find tears in his eyes. "Why did he want to quit?" Josh managed a hoarse whisper.

"He was ill, Josh. He was tired. He had headaches and nosebleeds and needed rest. And on top of that, he felt like he was no longer contributing to the administration."

"How did you convince him to stay?"

"I didn't. Not that I didn't try, both the President and I tried. But it was Toby, whatever Toby said to Sam, that changed his mind. I think it changed his mind on a lot of things. After that, Sam decided to fight."

Josh looked Leo dead in the eyes. "I don't want to see my best friend dying," He choked out, determination blazing, almost covering the fear. "I can't see him dying."

Leo pushed back his chair and stood. "You're both stronger than you think you are. You'll see him, Josh. You and I both know you will."

He took a few steps towards the door, then turned around. "Every second of every day we are dying, Josh. Sometimes we need someone to remind us that every second of every day we're living, too."

%~%~%~%~%

Josh clutched the ribbon in his hand and gripped the door knob with his other.

Why was he so nervous? It was silly. Sam was his best friend, had been for years. They'd been through hell together and had their share of laughs... but still, he didn't want to see him... like that.

'You already saw him sick,' a little voice in his head pointed out.

'Yes,' Josh thought back. 'But he was sleeping then. It was different. I don't know if I'm ready to-'

But even as he thought the words he was opening the door.

The blinds were shut and letting in slits of light from the edges. Almost immediately Josh noticed that Arella's bed was empty. He turned towards Sam, bringing the large green and blue balloon with him.

Sam was awake and, to Josh's surprise, not alone. Josh could physically feel a wave of awkward tension flow over him as he recognized the two figures standing uncomfortably at the far side of Sam's bed.

Instantly switching mental gears as six eyes, four blue and two green, turned to examine him, Josh took a few steps forward, holding out his hand.

"Mr. and Mrs. Seaborn," He introduced himself cheerfully. "I'm Josh Lyman."

Sam's mother hid a smile and swatted at his hand. "Josh, we all know each other."

Josh looked sideways at Sam and was unable to read his expression.

"Yeah, I know. It must be the political side of me - can't resist a handshake," Josh joked quietly, humorlessly.

The three stood, hesitantly looking around the room and at Sam, until his mother clapped her hands together.

"Sammy, your father and I should get going. We have to check into the hotel soon."

"Mom, I told you that's ridiculous. You can stay at my apartment," Sam's voice was thin, raspy, a caricature of its former brilliance.

"Sammy, we'll be fine. Don't worry about us, okay? We'll be back tomorrow morning before your surgery."

She leaned down and enveloped her 'Sammy' in a brief, tight hug. Josh almost missed the lightning-fast kiss she planted on her son's forehead. Then she straightened, adjusted her blouse, and motioned for her husband to follow.

Josh watched in almost voyeuristic fascination, the subtle inclination of the graying head tilting ever-so-slightly towards Sam as Mr. Seaborn walked past. Things were very complicated between the philandering man and his wounded son but deep down they still loved each other.

And to think - Sam always said Josh had a lousy eye for subtext.

The door closed quietly behind the couple and neither man looked at the other. Josh contemplated what he should say.

"She's so sad, Josh," Sam whispered, beating Josh to the punch. "Between the affair and losing her job and now me... how come I'm the one that's sick and I feel so guilty for hurting her?"

"Because, Sam," Josh caught Sam's sullen eyes. "You are such a kind and caring person that you feel guilty for everyone and anyone's pain and suffering."

A long moment passed as they locked gazes, each afraid to be the first one to look away.

"Is that bad?"

"How _can_ it be? Your ability to empathize and sympathize with others is what makes you so perceptive, so human. It's what makes you a great writer."

Josh pushed his hand towards Sam, offering the string of the balloon as if it were a peace pipe.

Sam accepted his subtle apology mixed with a compliment and took the string, pulling down on it to get a good view of the balloon.

"'Get well soon,'" He read, tracing the letters with his non-IVed hand. He looked up at Josh, who was dragging over a chair. "Thanks."

"For the balloon?" Josh asked, surprised. "Oh, it was nothing."

"No, I meant it in general. A blanket thank-you."

Josh nodded towards the door. "How did that go?"

"My parents? Oh it was awkward as hell."

"You see, I knew that. I could tell - I read the subtext of the situation," Josh boasted proudly, attempting to not depress Sam any more than necessary.

The native Californian in the gown rolled his eyes. "Josh, I doubt you needed to read any subtext to pick up on that family dynamic."

Josh frowned, hoping it wasn't too obvious he was putting on this show purely for Sam's amusement.

It was.

Sam played again. "Okay, Josh, I'm sorry. I'm proud of you and your perceptions," He paused while tying the ribbon to the metal railing on the side of his bed. "My mom was all right. She looked sick from worrying, but we were fine. Then again, I've always gotten along perfectly well with her... My father, on the other hand... we didn't even say 'hello' to each other. But I know he cares, and I think he knows that while I'm still not over it yet, he's my father and I love him."

Josh nodded, watching the reflected specks of colored light dancing on the wall as the balloon slowly turned from the air-conditioned breeze.

The colors caught Sam's attention, too.

"Hey, where did your roommate go? I was here yesterday and we talked a little."

Sam looked pleasantly surprised at the revelation. "I don't know. I woke up today and she was gone. The nurses don't know anything either. I got to know her pretty well... I hope she's okay."

"Me, too."

"So how have things been at work?" Sam knew the gist of what was going on, what with CNN and the tidbits he'd weaned from the other staffers. No one was around constantly to make sure "The Rules" were enacted for him, and Sam found himself envious of Josh and his closer-than-he-wanted-to-acknowledge relationship with Donna.

Sam didn't have a Donna. He didn't really have anyone. Toby had been by the most, the majority of his visits under the guise of needing Sam's help writing something or other, although they did very little actual writing, from what Sam could recall. Sam didn't have a wife, or a girlfriend, or a dedicated and in-love assistant. 

And until that point, he hadn't even had a best friend.

"I think I understand now," Josh announced, causing Sam to jump a little in surprise.

"Understand what?"

"You. Me. Our friendship."

Sam's perplexity was clearly detectable on his face, so Josh continued.

"It's very complicated, which is probably why it's taken so long to figure it out. See, you and I have known each other for a long time. And I know we've drifted apart these last few months, but we're still like brothers. The only problem is, like brothers, we are close and competitive and understanding. When I got shot in Rosslyn, you felt guilty. Until now, I didn't really comprehend why. I thought that you just felt bad for me, but I now realize it's more than that," Josh took a breath. "Okay, now, don't think this is weird or anything, but I think we're like a type of soul mates, like twins or something. Or maybe it's nothing like that and I'm just making an ass out of myself... either way, we have a connection that goes behind just regular friendship. So when either of us is in pain, the other one feels doubly bad - bad because his best friend is hurting and bad because he is, too, and is supposed to, by unspoken decree, be the stronger one and not show it. I think... I think that's why it was so hard for you to visit me after Rosslyn, and I know that's part of the reason why it was so hard for me to come here tonight."

Sam nodded. Josh had never seen him look so serious in all his life.

"The other part is... well, I'm a little pissed at you, Sam."

Josh got the effect he'd desired - Sam's eyebrows had shot up to the ceiling. "What? Why?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were sick? Why did you refuse the surgery in the first place? How could you keep something like this a secret? And why was Toby the one who found you and not me?"

The words hung in the air, echoing in Josh's ears until it grew painful. "That last question is one that I asked myself over and over after the shooting," Sam admitted in a soft voice. "I never found an answer to it." He reached out to fiddle with the ribbon of the balloon. "As for the rest... I don't know. I really don't know what I was thinking. I could try to say that I was protecting you, but I think more than that I was trying to protect myself. It doesn't make much sense, but that's how I did things. And I didn't want the surgery because then the secret would be out, and on top of that I'm terrified of what could go wrong. The section of my brain... Josh, that's my life. My language center. If I couldn't... I would be a different person."

"Why did you want to quit?"

Sam's eyes darkened. "That was personal, Josh. It was more about this," He indicated the hospital room with a wave of his free hand, "Than anything else. Although I didn't feel like I was... well, put it this way, I didn't feel like anyone would notice my absence."

"And Toby changed your mind?"

Sam nodded, but Josh could tell he wasn't about to share that secret.

"You know what we just had?"

"What?" Sam asked, curious.

"Our own therapy session."

Sam smiled. "I suppose we did do a little tag-team analysis there, huh?"

Something picked at Josh's consciousness. "This is teamwork," He stated quietly, the memory vivid in his mind.

A grin lit up Sam's face, bringing a glimmer of something that had been missing back into his bright blue eyes. "It really is."

The moment only lasted a few seconds, and then it was back to the grim seriousness of reality.

But the moment was enough.

The end?


End file.
